


Chérir

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Dragon Mick, Dragons, Fix-It, Griffins, M/M, also, honestly i will ride a dragon into canon and set it on fire, it'll be the greatest spectacle since Temeraire and Laurence, with actual cannons at my back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 10:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12725304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: Mick refuses to let Len go. Len refuses to let Mick go.Something's gotta give.(happy birthday nirejseki!)





	Chérir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nirejseki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/gifts).



> Trésor is the noun for treasure in French, but I went with the verb "to treasure"
> 
> I actually want to write stories in French, but like. I would make. SO MANY GRAMMAR MISTAKES. I CAN FEEL IT

"My old friend...please forgive me."

"For what?"

Countless things, really. But most of all, giving up the chance to make them up to him.

He should've known. He really should've.

The cold gun nearly shatters on Mick's scales, 'cause Mick has damn good reflexes, even when he thinks he doesn't need 'em.

Molten orange eyes blaze at Len. "What the hell was that?!"

Len tries shoving him out of the way. "Get outta here!"

"Are you fucking nuts?" Mick roars, more beast than man now. His knees are starting to crack at an awkward angle, and Len's willing to bet his jacket's gonna tear under wings.

"We don't have time for this!" Sara shouts, "More of them are coming! Let's go!"

It's Mick's turn to shove Len. Len barely catches himself. "Listen to your lady, Snart.  _Go_!"

Len's fingers clench on his wrecked gun. "If I have to go without you, I ain't goin' at all!"

A sinewy tail of venom black spikes and wrathful orange scales wraps around Len's torso.

"I. Said.  _GO!_ "

Len's thrown clear across the room.

Silver wings and a lion's roar rip Len's jacket and throat apart. Len splays them at an angle to catch what wind he can to smooth his landing. His talons screech on the floor, barely stopping him from sliding out completely, like Mick wants.

Sara's gaping at both of them. Mick's gaping at Len. Len's close to standing there like a moron and gaping at himself.

Lisa has pretty golden wings, of course. Len'd never let Lewis touch those. But he― _he_ never had 'em. Lewis had mocked him enough for it.

Doesn't matter now. What matters is Len's got a new asset, and he is  _not leaving Mick behind_. Not again, not ever.

 _"I hoard fire,"_ Mick'd told him in juvie,  _"But your ice...it burns alright."_

 _"I'm keepin' yah,"_ Mick'd told him, drunk off his ass,  _"You're the―th'best fuckin' fire I got."_

 _"Treasure,"_ Mick'd told him, dazed with blood loss,  _"Had t'protect yah."_

Len's eyes shine gold, pushing his pupils into slits. He has no idea how to fly, but he can run. His wings take a few shots 'cause he doesn't know how to evade with them. The rest of him goes unscathed, though, so he can deal with the burns. Mick is his goal.

He's had time. He can think.

His cold gun, nearly bent outta proportion, lies in his way. Len snatches it. With renewed strength, Mick's barreled outta the way.

Despite its crumpled frame, the cold gun fits perfectly on the failsafe.

Len grabs Mick's elbow and sprints.

* * *

"You have wings," Jax says blankly.

Wings that are draped awkwardly around Mick's, spotted with blaster burns and trembling with sudden use. Adrenaline's worn off, leaving Len's legs a little shaky too. Well. Len tells himself it's the adrenaline and not the fact that _Mick almost died_ _._

He's gonna need new clothes. So's Mick. But Mick'll be around to get 'em with him.

Soon as they're clear of the Vanishing Point, Len's dragging Mick to his room. He doesn't know how to retract his wings, which made his ride bumpier than usual, but he needs to fucking talk to his dragon.

The door slams behind them. Mick stares at Len like the rest of the team.

"Griffin," he murmurs.

Len feels a damn lion's tail on the back of his thigh. His talons are still out too.

"Doesn't matter right now, Mick," he says, "You were gonna―"

" _You_ ," Mick snaps, "What were  _you_ gonna do, Snart?"

Len scowls. "You should―"

Mick's wings reappear, arching angrily. "Don't you fucking dare!"

"You once called me your treasure, Mick," Len hisses. Mick pauses. "Probably don't remember, but you did."

Mick twitches. "No. I remember."

"So what d'you think you are to me, huh?"

Mick blinks. "What?"

Len wants to scrub his face, but he might claw it off. "You're  _it_ for me, Mick. Alright? Whatever a treasure is to a griffin, that's you. You and Lisa. If you died―"

"If  _you_ died," Mick says hoarsely, "I'd fuckin' waste away, Lenny. You separate a dragon from their treasure, it's―it ain't pretty."

Len clenches his fists as best he can.

Mick shakes his head. Says, " _Fuck_ , Snart," and kisses him.

A weird trilling noise edges from Len's chest. Mick replies with a draconic hum. They entwine from head to tail and Len's never felt so damn safe in his life. He's never felt more like himself either.

Lewis never told him. Of course he didn't.

Len runs his talons gently of Mick's scars and sinks into the sensation of his wings.  _His_ wings. Lisa grounds him, and Mick―Mick brought out the sky in him.

"Never again," Len whispers between them, "Neither of us. Deal?"

Mick pulls him impossibly closer. "That's the most sensible thing you've said all damn day."

They kiss. They breathe. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> happy belated birthday to a wonderful hatchling and friend! I'm sorry I couldn't get this out on your actual birthday :(


End file.
